I was hanging down in Georgetown tonight, trying to keep my friend George the Georgian surgeon from attacking women, when the vaguely Amerindish guy who spends most of his time in there scoring ballets walks over from across the room to ask me if I'd like to read a short story.

With “The Hills,” they use a master story (the fight between Lauren and Heidi) to propel themselves through narrative tributaries that might take them onto other platforms and technologies (message boards, aftershow discussions, video-sharing, music-download sites).

It is distinguished by its splendent lustre and conchoidal fracture.

Lo I the man, whose Muse whilome did maske, As time her taught, in lowly Shepheards weeds, Am now enforst a far unfitter taske […]